


The Drifter

by Emono



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Breeding, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Eloping, M/M, Mild Smut, Mpreg, Religious Guilt, Romanticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin is the son of the town's Priest, a son of the church. That is, until a The Drifter comes through the town. Then he's just another wanton whore, and now he must live with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drifter

**Thank you Chooboozle for looking this over and adding. You are the best B <3 Consider this my little love letter to "My Little Ray" (which everyone should read)**   
  
  


* * *

 

 

The night was as restless as Gavin’s mind. He squirmed in his bed, trying to wiggle into a comfortable position. He gave up after what seemed like hours and rolled onto his back, sprawling out. His cotton shift was rucked up high around his waist, the tiny pink bows across the collar matching the powder pink of his panties. They cut so obscenely high on him, it was indecent really, but he loved them. Gavin tossed an arm over his head and traced the swirls of ivory paint on his ceiling. The whole room was disgustingly pristine, painted the color of virgin snow and decorated with pastels. It had been this way his whole life. Before tonight he had loved it - basking in the fancy delicacy of it all, spending hours in front of his neat, polished vanity to fix his hair in the mirror and play with some of his mother’s old cosmetics. Dolls he had sewn the dresses for lined up on shelves on the far wall and along his dresser, each more elaborate than the last. Some with plain cotton patterns but others were done up with bows and lace, button eyes ranging from black to blue to pure, expensive ivory. Seashells and beads and silk ribbons - all of them customized and named and loved.

 

Now they felt like a small army staring at him, condemning him like the stare of his father had. His mother had locked herself away in the master bedroom all day and he had heard her weeping from the kitchen. Gavin had been forced into chores since the sun came up this morning, put onto his hands and knees to scrub the floors until his own blood was staining the wood. He’d polished every piece of silver and mopped and dusted, and when the whole house had been scrubbed to perfection he’d been dragged across the town and physically locked inside his father’s church to clean it from top to bottom.

 

Despite feeling like a pile of jelly and exhausted down to his very bones, Gavin couldn’t sleep. He felt like a cornhusk doll held together with wire and hope, but his mind was a wasp nest. He could feel the angry buzzing behind his eyes and between his ears, beneath his tongue and in the back of his throat. Everytime he breathed he felt like he was tasting the first licks of pure hellfire. His father’s righteous words had left their sear-marks in his flesh and they were still burning strong, still reminding him that he was going straight into the pits when he passed from this world.

 

He sniffled and brought his other hand up to the little belly bump in his nightie, rucking up the hem to expose himself. It was such a small curve right now, almost just like he’d eaten too much at the local Sunday potluck. Sun-kissed skin was starting to stretch tight and it was the tiniest little mound but he was already in love with it. Tears stung his eyes and when he blinked they weighed heavy on his lashes. This little love bug was already his entire world and his parents not only hated _it_ but _him_.

 

The babe had been made in sin, his father had declared, screaming so loud his head had looked ready to catch flame. Gav had tried to keep his secret for as long as he could but his cousins had caught him bathing and had told before he’d even finished washing his hair. His father had dragged him through the house and out through town, demanding to know who it was, shoving him in front of every shopkeep and butcher’s boy with a sneer that could’ve turned sand to glass. Michael had held strong for days but last night he’d given in and admitted to lying with the Drifter.

 

The Drifter was a mysterious man that had wandered into Roosthaus. Their large, sleepy town rarely hard new faces this far north so every new man was like a mystery. Tall and broad-shouldered with a wild nest of copper curls usually hidden under the brim of a hat. Weathered, handsome face with a tough jaw and fierce, blue eyes. He looked more like a ranch hand than anything else.

 

He’d approached him off near the cow farm while he’d been visiting to collect some milk for the local orphanage. He’d swooped in, hat respectively removed and held behind his back while his other gloved hand had extended a bouquet of wild flowers. They’d been cleanly cut and carefully chosen, wrapped in a simple, unblemished white ribbon. He’d been wary of such a gift, but the Drifter had been gently insistent of him taking it.

 

“ _Pretty lads deserve pretty things_.” The declaration had been followed by a polite bow before the man had simply walked away. From then on they had run into each other so casually, passing by on the street or in church. But the moments had grown more intimate. The man had found him at his private hiding spot near the lake beneath a big willow tree, a rare commodity out where they lived. He’d found him berry picking and delicately mushroom hunting, picking wildflowers for his family’s dinner table, even when he was at the dress shop for more ribbon and thread.

 

The Drifter had shown him how to properly test the fat of a pig and the musky smoke of tobacco, and in returned he’d embroidered a handkerchief of his and fixed the holes in his clothes. He’d tasted his first bite of whiskey and he’d in turn shared chocolate, both of them exchanging tiny things from their very different lives. He’d whittled while he wove daisies and long stemmed flowers for a crown. One sharpening a knife while the other whistled hymns as they stole some private space beneath the willow tree.

 

Then he’d caught him in the barn with the new batch of puppies from their bloodhound.

 

He gave a heavy, lustful sigh into the quiet of his room. He closed his eyes and remembered the slow, uncertain dance between them. The silent agreement to climb up to the top loft with the fresh hay, the way it had crushed beneath him as he pushed him onto it. The thrill of his first kiss followed by a dozen others. They’d eaten at each other’s mouths like thirsty dogs, hands merely clenching at first before exploring. Burnie had been so careful with him until he’d begged him not to. The man had been so quick to unlatch the back of his dress, pulling it down and briefly trapping his arms to properly worship his chest with hungry teeth. By the time he’d freed himself he was already a hard, dripping mess in his panties.

 

He’d never forget the look of awe on Burnie’s face when he flipped up his skirt and saw the bulge of his shameful need, the wet spot on his panties and the garter set below it. Calloused fingers on his silk stockings, the careful tug and question before his panties were shed. God above - how they’d sucked and rubbed against each other. Burnie had brought warm, earthy-smelling oil that he’d slicked their cocks in. The man had massaged between his thighs until he’d gotten to the furl of muscle between his cheeks.

 

Gavin hadn’t protested, not for one moment. Feeling thick with love and need, he’d parted his thighs and begged the Drifter to ravage him. _Have me here, I beg you._

 

Burnie had drawn back, uncertainty written all over his handsome face. _Your father’s the town Priest. I shouldn’t. He’ll hang me for this._ He’d laid such gentle hands on his waist then, looking him in the eyes as sorrow scratched into his features. _I don’t know what he’d do to you, little flower. I can’t bear to think of you crushed under his boot and locked away. I won’t damn you._

 

They’d kissed then, tender and sweet, and then Gavin had stripped off his dress. _Damn my chastity. I am not for God. God doesn’t want me as much as you do._

 

_Sweet darlin’. Doesn’t love you as much I do neither._

 

It had hurt at first to have such thick fingers inside him but with enough oil and kisses he’d opened up. That blood-hot, heavy cock inside him had been the best thing of his short life, the movements full of passion and energy that brought more life to Gavin more than anything. More than the church, more than volunteer work, more than slaving under his father’s orders. This was what he was meant for, he could feel it. He’d smothered his noises by biting the back of his hand but Burnie had been so frightened of him hurting himself that he’d eased his hand away and urged him to set his teeth in the leather of his vest instead. Gavin had clung to him so desperately as he was taken, filled and rutted into with a delicious hunger that only fed his own. He’d barely recognized himself as he begged for his own release, to be bred and flushed with seed, with new life. It was sensational, no longer trying to hold back the sounds that praised the man above him, desperately wanting nothing more than to always be like this - be taken away and treated so _right_ , even if it was so wrong to the eyes of not only the Lord, but his wretched father.

 

It had been all in the moment, but by the morning he’d caught.

 

Burnie hadn’t run off, but Gavin had begged him to stay away. He knew what his father would do, what would happen to the mindset of this town after just one Sunday. The Drifter had pleaded to linger, to help him even at a distance, but Gavin had all but turned his back to him and had stuck close to home. It had been a childish plan to take care of everything himself and within two months it had backfired.

 

Now he was without any love but for that he had with his baby. Gavin rubbed over the soft, tan mound and felt another wash of tears coming up. He’d heard his father roaring earlier this afternoon about how no one had seen the Drifter in a month, that he’d up and disappeared. By the next morning, Gavin was sure everyone would know how low of a little slag he was, how he nearly _screamed_ for the Drifter to fill him to the brim with such hot and fertile cream, how badly he wanted to catch. He rubbed over the tight mound again and this time, he allowed himself to weep softly. They would know that he’d become a wanton tramp for the first stranger to pass by and his reputation would be ruined. No one would take him as a bride now, nor his bastard baby. They would live their life in the church, closely guarded and openly seethed at. His father would make him an example of sin and his precious babe the fruit of his actions.

 

Gavin sniffled pathetically and rolled onto his side, arm wrapped protectively around his belly. For one night of love, he’d damned all three of them. He couldn’t hate Burnie for being smart and taking off. “ ‘least one of us will be free.”

 

There was a tapping outside his window, followed by a blunt series of thunks. Gavin sat up, still cradling his belly as he watched the lacy curtain flutter in the breeze. He’d left his window open for some fresh night air and now regretted it. His heart jumped up in his throat and he drew in on himself, ready to scream at the first sign of danger. His father hated him but he’d never let anyone hurt him.

 

“Gavin?”

 

The boy gaped. “M-Michael?”

 

A flair of auburn curls peeked above the windowsill before bright blue eyes showed themselves, crinkling at the corner at the sight. “Nobody calls me ‘Michael’, darlin’. I’ve told you that.”

 

“Burnie!” Gavin rasped excitedly as he jumped out of bed. Standing up he could see the bits of the ladder the man had used to climb up to the second floor, and he heaved himself into the window with ease. Burnie was downright filthy from head to toe but the boy jumped right into his arms, getting swept up with that familiar strength and held tight. He kissed the other’s dirty cheek and basked in the pure relief. “God above, I thought I’d never see you again.”

 

“Oh, my sweet little darling, look at you,” Burnie breathed, pushing him away so he could properly look him over. “ _Look at you._ ” He sounded nearly breathless and stunned, eyes growing wide as he fully scanned his gaze over the Lad. He was just as dazzling as he was when they first met, although there was a slight increase of volume in his curves, the little glow of his body standing out to the Drifter in the most beautiful of ways.  
  
Gavin fluttered nervously. “I’m...just…”

 

Burnie dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around the boy’s hips, dragging him close to rest his cheek on his baby bump. “My fruitful darling. Look at how gorgeous you are. My little peanut is in there, isn’t he?” He turned his head and kissed over the covered bump, a palm sliding back around to cup the curve. “I’m so glad he’s safe in there. Your father hasn’t worked you too hard, has he?” A sparkle of concern flickered in his eyes as he looked up to Gavin.

 

Gavin chewed his lower lip, hesitating before the lie, and the stern look on Burnie’s face told him he’d been caught. The man lifted the hem of his nightie and snarled at the bloody rubbed-away wounds on his knees. Burnie stood and gently took his arms, turning them over to see his elbows were raw too. The Lad could see the exact moment when a silence shock of horror struck at the Drifter’s face as if it were a match igniting. “ _Gavin_.”

  
  
“D-Don’t…”

 

“Darlin’,” Burnie sighed sadly, rough hands sliding up to cup the boy’s hands. He lifted them up and gave them scratchy kisses. “Our baby…”

 

“I know, I was careful,” Gavin half-lied. “I couldn’t deny my father.” He suddenly blanched at the thought of his father. “Why are you here? If he finds you, he’ll hang you in town square. He’s so wrathful right now, he might bring the fire. Please, my love-”

 

“Love is why I’m here,” Burnie insisted, keeping the boy’s hands clasped between his own. He smiled and it looked haggard, dark circles under his eyes that looked almost like bruises. “I’ve come back for you.”

 

Gavin’s mouth dropped open dumbly. “You shouldn’t have. They’ll kill you.”

 

“And what will they do to you?” the Drifter needled, brows knitting. “Trap you in this pretty room until you wither away? Will that damn Priest parade you through town, convincing you and everyone else that you’ll go to hell just for lovin’ me? Like my baby is the spawn of Satan?” The man flushed angrily. “I won’t condemn your or my son to that. I won’t let my love be the worst thing to ever happen to you.”

 

“It’s the _best_ thing,” Gavin promised heatedly. “Please, you can’t...you musn’t…”

 

“Come with me.”

 

His heart seized up and clogged his throat, stealing his breath. “Oh.”

 

“Please,” Burnie begged shamelessly. “You and the little peanut, huh? Just pack your things and climb out with me. I’ve got a wagon and horses and some money. We can go far away from Roosthaus, out of your father’s reach. No one will know our names.” He brought his hands up and kissed them both. “Please, my Gavin, my boy.” He smiled tearfully and it was a shock to see such a strong man look so open. “My _boys_. Come with me. Let me give you a new life.”

 

Gavin gaped dumbly. He was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, that he wasn’t out collecting eggs or fast asleep and lost in his own head. Burnie saw his dumbfounded expression but no disgust or disappointment there. When the boy’s lower lip quivered, he grinned and snatched him up bridal style. He hooked a hand under his knees and at his lower back and lifted him right up off the ground with a gasp, cradling him close.

 

“Michael, please!” Gavin laughed breathlessly, trying to keep his voice down lest he wake his father. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and held tight, blushing darkly at how intimate their position was. The rasp of the man’s sleeve on his sensitive, lower thighs and their noses brushing - he could feel the air brushing his panties.

 

“Marry me,” Burnie declared softly, but with no less love than if he’d screamed it. “Let me put a ring on that cute little finger and take you far away from here.”

  
  
“Y-You sound too romantic to be true, Mr. Burns,” Gavin stuttered out, heart racing like a trapped bird in his chest. “You can’t mean it. It’s so dangerous.”

 

Burnie brushed a brief kiss over his mouth and it sent pleasurable sparks down into his tummy. “I’ll work hard and I swear you’ll never go hungry. We’ll get in my wagon and ride until I find a good job. We’ll buy a plot of land near the forest and I’ll build you a log cabin, like my Pa did for my Mama.” The man bit his lip and looked delightfully bashful. “What do you say, Gavin? You can stay here, I won’t steal you. But I would happily take you as my wife.”

 

“Oh Michael,” he breathed.

 

“Forgive me for not getting down on one knee, flower, but I can’t seem to let go of you until I know if you’re mine.”

 

The smooth rumble had Gavin swooning and he swallowed a whimper, nodding eagerly. “Yes of course. I-I’ll run away with you, my Michael. My Drifter. I’ll follow you wherever you go.” He swallowed thickly and held tighter. “Don’t leave us alone here.”

 

“Never, my little ones,” Burnie promised with a sudden, bright smile. He set the boy back on his feet and cupped his cheeks instead, losing himself briefly in those hazel depths. “We leave tonight then. Pack your sturdiest clothes and the essentials.” Gavin frowned a little in confusion and he thumbed under the boy’s eyes. “Don’t be angry with me, flower, but we have to travel light. I will get you all the finery you could want when we have a roof over our heads. And your pretty dresses...my darlin’, we will sleep outside for a bit and I can’t have those plump thighs of your flagging down bandits.”

 

Gavin flushed and nodded. “I understand. I’ll be quick.” He started to step away but he hesitated. “Can I...bring a doll?”

 

Burnie felt a deep stomach clench that was almost like guilt. “Of course.”

 

Gavin broke out in a relieved smile. “Thank you.”

 

Gavin quietly padded around his room and packed what he knew he couldn’t live without. Underwear, a few plain dresses, and all the pants and plain shirts he had in his room. He had some bandages and cleaning oil to pack away and he changed out of his nightie for a pair of pants and a button up, even a cap. He lingered among his dolls until he found the first one he’d ever made. It was old and faded, yellowed at the edges with a hand-sewn dress. She had plain button eyes and a stitched smile and when he gazed upon her it made his heart throb in a good way. She fit well in his canvas bag.

 

Quietly, they climbed out the window and crept down the ladder, sneaking across the grounds to jump the fence on the edge of the property. The carriage was there, the horses still tied up and restless to get moving. Gavin felt like a princess in a story being whisked away and when Burnie lifted him up onto the bench with no problem, his heart pounded in the best way. 

 

“Be quiet, flower. Voices carry across the desert just as easy as water.”

 

o0o0o0o

 

Spring bled into summer and tumbled into autumn, and by the time winter touched the pines nearly a hundred miles from Roosthaus there was a new log cabin kissing the edge of the forest. It had a healthy crop of cows and vegetables and it was all guarded by a thick fence. There was a sweet boy in an apron with a shiny, diamond ring on his finger with a handsome, solid husband just half a mile away with a fat deer slung across his shoulders.

 

And they were happy. 

 


End file.
